A youthful minotaur warrior who is still searching for his balance between savagery and civility.


Level 1 Barbarian (Striker)
Medium Natural Humanoid (Minotaur)

Initiative +0; Passive Senses Perception 17, Insight 10; Vision: Normal
HP: 31; Bloodied: 15
Healing Surge 7; Surges Per Day 11
AC 17; Fortitude 17, Reflex 11, Will 10
Speed 6; Action Points 1

Alignment Good; Languages Common
Skills Athletics: +9; Endurance: +7; Perception: +7;

Feats Hide Armor Expertise (while wearing hide armor use Con mod instead of Dex or Int for AC)
Str 20 (+5) Dex 10 (+0) Wis 10 (+0)
Con 16 (+3) Int 8 (-1) Cha 11 (+0)
Possessions Hide Armor, Greataxe, backpack, bedroll, flint & steel, sunrod (2), trail rations (10 days), pouch (belt), hemp rope (50’), waterskin, everburning torch

Racial Traits Ferocity (make melee basic attack when dropped to 0 HP), Goring Charge (charge enemy with horns: Encounter Power), Heedless Charge (+2 AC vs. Opportunity Attacks while charging), +2 Nature & Perception
Class Features Barbarian Agility (+1 to AC and Ref in light armor), Rageblood Vigor (Gain Swift Charge power and when reducing an enemy to 0 Hp gain temp HP = Con Mod), Rampage (1/round when scoring a crit you can follow up with a second basic attack which does not have to target the initial target)

Basic Attacks

Greataxe (standard; at-will) : Greataxe +7 vs. AC; 1d12+5 damage.

Power Descriptions

At-Will Evocations

Howling Strike Barbarian Attack 1
At-Will : Primal, Weapon
Standard Action; Melee Weapon
Requirement: You must be wielding a two-handed weapon.
Target: One creature
Attack: +7 vs. AC
Hit: 1d12 + 1d6 + 5 damage.
Special: When charging, you can use this power in place of a melee basic attack. If you are raging, you can move 2 extra squares as part of the charge.

Recuperating Strike Barbarian Attack 1
At-Will : Primal, Weapon
Standard Action; Melee Weapon
Requirement: You must be wielding a two-handed weapon.
Target: One creature
Attack: +7 vs. AC
Hit: 1d12 + 5 damage, and you gain temporary hit points equal to your Constitution modifier (3). If you are raging, the number of temporary hit points you gain equals 5 + your Constitution modifier (3).

Encounter Evocations

Swift Charge Barbarian Feature
Encounter : Primal
Free Action; Personal
Trigger: Your attack reduces an opponent to 0 hit points.
Effect: You charge an enemy.

Avalanche Strike Barbarian Attack 1
Encounter : Primal, Weapon
Standard Action; Melee Weapon
Attack: +7 vs. AC
Hit: 3d12 + 5 damage.
Rageblood Vigor: The attack deals extra damage equal to your Constitution modifier (3).
Effect: Until the start of your next turn, any attacker gains a +4 bonus to attack rolls against you.

Goring Charge Racial Feature Minotaur
Standard Action; Melee 1
Requirement: You must charge and use this power in place of a melee basic attack.
Target: One creature.
Attack: +8 vs. AC
Hit: 1d6 + 4 damage, and the target is knocked prone.

Second Wind PC Feature
Standard Action; Personal
Effect: You spend a healing surge and regain 7 hit points. You also gain a +2 bonus to all defenses until the start of your next turn.

Daily Evocations

Tyrant’s Rage Barbarian Attack 1
Daily : Fear, Primal, Rage, Weapon
Standard Action; Melee Weapon
Hit: 2d12 + 5 damage. and the target is dazed (save ends).
Miss: The target takes half damage and is dazed until the end of your next turn.
Effect: You enter the rage of the tyrant. Until the rage ends, you can push every enemy adjacent to you 1 square as a minor action once per round.

Current XP: 0 (Through Session 0)
Next Level: 1000

Height: 7’6" Weight: 340 lbs Age: 22
Eyes: Grey Fur: Rusty Red Skin: Bronzed

A snuffle comes from the shadows.
“So you want to hear my tale do you?” a deep gruff baritone voice speaks. A massive bull head emerges from the darkness, the first view is the enormous curving horns stretching into the light; carvings of glyphs and notches from battle etch their length. Eventually a rusty furred snout emerges, wet and scarred from old wars and tired gray eyes that show a greater age than the body itself.

“You want to know how I began? How I was small? The origins of Tarrantus?” booms the voice. “I will tell you small-one. Head my words but understand though that all must walk their own path from Baphomet.” The gargantuan form of the minotaur begins to pull itself into view from out of the shadow, bathing itself in the lamp’s light. Hundreds of scars mar the torso from great healed gashes to small pockmarks. The giant’s arms ripple with corded muscles as it pulls itself into view, wild labyrinthine tattoos cover generous portions of the neck and arms. “Well, lets begin at the beginning shall we…”

When born, the Thunderhoof tribe was small, it had been a splinter tribe that did not agree that fealty to another god and driving ourselves away from the spirits of the land would free us from the bestial grip of Baphomet. Their lot had been hard, they were trying to balance the wicked influence of Baphomet with the good natural spirits of the land guiding us. The elders were old minotaur who had transcended Baphomet’s grip by listening to the world, the natural spirits guided them to serenity and aided their decisions.

The elder in Tarrantus’ youth was his own grandfather, you may now know him now as Jakoomah the Corrupt. Jakoomah had led the tribe for since before Tarrantus was born. There had been times of war and times of peace, but it seemed during Tarrantus’ youth that the tribe was primarily at war with surrounding tribes of humans, elves and others that listened to the land. Tarrantus was born under the eyes of Jakoomah who placed a mark upon his head. Jakoomah declared that Tarrantus was to be a great warrior and that he had seen the young one’s deeds. This made Tarrantus’ parents proud. This same prophecy also doomed Tarrantus to his fate for he had no other choice but to be a warrior.

From the earliest age Tarrantus was trained for war. He was given a weapon as soon as he could stand on his own without falling. His training pitted him against small-lings half again his age. He was steeped in battle as was his destiny. This honed battle lust would bring a tough road before Tarrantus. The tyrannical spirit of rage was so ingrained in Tarrantus in battle that he was swiftly losing the fight against Baphomet, he was on the road to becoming a mindless killing beast.

Jakoomah seemed almost pleased at the near monstrous Tarrantus. The boy was never taught much and aside from training and battle, was kept cloistered from the majority of the tribe. The wars though, that is when Jakoomah showed his true nature. He used Tarrantus as a tool, a walking weapon, even though he was still just a child. The battles would start, the human tribes would try peace talks but were always threatened in the presence of Jakoomah. He kept Tarrantus at his side during the talks, a youth that was near ravenous. The other tribes would never leave happy and war would spill out soon enough.

Jakoomah seemed to revel in releasing his grandchild. The beast was unconquerable, the child would rampage and rage and many fell at his feet. It wasn’t until a fateful battle where Tarrantus turned on his own kind in his rage that the other members of the tribe understood the error that was made.

The battle was long against the human tribe, neither would give, the minotaurs had fewer numbers but their size and brutality made up for it, they charged into battle impaling the first line on their horns. Tarrantus was held back until the front was clear and then released among a few other berserkers. He charged headlong screaming and snorting, roaring and leaping into the fray. He gored men with his horns, he cleaved them with his axe, his coat was crimson with sticky man-blood. He fought until there was a wide berth about him as warriors avoided his grasp. Without targets Tarrantus lashed out wildly spinning and searching for an outlet for his rage. He charged when he found a target and leaped upon his prey bringing his head down into it’s belly and tearing it open. He pulled his head up and with a feral roar brought his greataxe down again and again until the head and chest were so much red sludge.

Within moments Tarrantus was facing off other opponents again, blurred visages charged him, gouging his body with pointed objects and hammering him with force. He began to fall, his rage built up and he swung wildly and felt his axe sink into meat. He kept striking, a limb flew and he heard roars and screams in a language that was vaguely familiar but he kept going. As the foes finally began to bring him low a figure rushed in and began to push the creatures away. As a last act of desperation before the world faded Tarrantus swung his greataxe and caught the interloper in the throat severing the head from the body. Tarrantus fell and the battle ended for him.

The aged minotaur slumps, his massive shoulders sag and he lets out a snuffling sigh. He is tired and it shows. He slowly pushes himself up and props his weight on his knees, leaning forward. “Let us continue…”

Terrantus awoke, he had not died that day, but how long had it been? The world was blurry and a lone figure stood above him. He felt pressure on his arms and legs holding him down and the figure leaned in close. It was his mothers face. Tarrantus felt fear, he wasn’t captive by the humans, he was being held by his own people… His own family! He struggled, the red tint came over his eyes and he began to rage at the world once more. He saw a figure, a familiar face hover into view as he began to settle. The tribes eldest shaman. He looked sorrowfully at Tarrantus and he spoke. “Baphomet has taken his spirit… There is little that can be done. He slew his own father… His brothers on that field.” Tarrantus jerked his head to look around, he saw his mother’s sorrowful face again, she stared at her son. “He’s all that’s left of our family line, is there no hope for him?”

The aged shaman looked into Tarrantus’ eyes and huffed… “I will converse with my brethren, I must speak to the elder Wardens as well, something untoward has happened under Jakoomah’s watch, his own grandchild, under his tutelage has fallen to Baphomet. I suspect there is more here than we see.” With that the gray old minotaur placed a hand upon Tarrantus’ head and he slept again.

Awakening was hard, chains bound Tarrantus to the ground, he recognized those around him, he saw the elder Wardens and the elder Shamans. They had encircled Tarrantus and the shamans called to spirits of healing as the Wardens watched Tarrantus closely. The world blurred as smoke rose from around him and in tune with the chant did it dance into his nostrils, into his eyes and into his mouth. Tarrantus felt Baphomet in him, he felt His fury rise, Baphomet’s bestial hunger erupted as a roar from Tarrantus’ mouth as he strained at his bindings and felt them begin to give. Words were shouted from the Wardens as the chains snapped under the tyrant’s fury. As the Wardens reached for their weapons to defend the Shamans something happened, something almost clandestine. Jakoomah entered the Shaman hut in a burst of rage. Tarrantus fell upon him swiftly with horns teeth and claws. Jakoomah was caught off guard and despite his own prowess fell to the younger beast. Within moments Tarrantus was tearing Jakoomah asunder despite his gargled screams as Tarrantus tore his throat out. The Wardens fell upon Tarrantus, their combined efforts bringing him to the ground and knocking him unconscious once more.

Awakening was simple enough for Tarrantus, he sat up unrestrained and the world was clear. He felt his head burn for a second, his mind raced, he remembered things in a red fog and felt like they were years away. He remembered carnage and remembered pain and anger and a looming darkness. It was all so distant, as though it were a dream or a different lifetime. He stood and his legs felt weak, like the muscles were in the first stage of atrophy. He took steps to the door and opened it into the midday heat. The light burned his vision.

Tarrantus felt awake, but there was still something in his mind, something angry. All around him moved away as he walked. He decided to go in search of the elder shaman to find out what happened. He walked unimpeded toward the shaman hut, inside he found the eldest shaman laid out on a bed another shaman stood over him. Tarrantus approached and knelt before the bed and asked what had happened. The shaman elder turned his head toward Tarrantus and smiled “We put a binding child. We locked Baphomet’s influence deep, pressing it down, you are your own again… for now.” Tarrantus leaned in closer “What did you do to me?” The shamans lips parted “We set the ritual of binding in motion, it was actually Jakoomah who completed it unknowingly. He was your catalyst and by releasing Baphomet upon him we were able to leash him. Jakoomah died in your hands.” The young minotaur’s eyes widened and asked “What has happened? Who leads the tribe?” “Your mother has stepped up to take his place, she has started peace talks with the surrounding tribes now that the unclean has fallen.” coughed the shaman. “You aren’t free yet though child, Baphomet still has his horns in you, he is still stronger in you than in others, you will have to work hard to overcome this, and one day you will be tested.” With that statement, the shaman coughed again and lay still. The other shaman tended to him and brought him water and the elder’s chest slowly rose and fell with his sleeping breath.

Tarrantus went in search of his mother, he found her in the elder’s tent and she turned to her son. Sadness and anger washed over her features as she stared at her last remaining child. “You are awake? Are you clear of mind?” She stared balefully at her son. “Yes mother… I mean Elder Akora…” She eyed him thoughtfully. “I have worked hard to undo what Jakoomah has done. The peace talks are going well…” Tarrantus looked hopefully at his mother who did not return his sentiment. “But there is a problem.” The look on her face was one of sadness, guilt, hatred and resignation. “You are a symbol son, they fear you, you are the mark that Jakoomah has left on them, on us. They tell their children stories of ‘Tarrantus the Red Horn’ to frighten them into obedience. They watch your sleeping chamber warily when they walk through the village. The elders glance to my side in the meets, half expectant to see you there slavering for carnage…”

“But mother… I’m well…” Tarrantus managed before she cut him off with a snort. “No child, you are not well. Baphomet still sleeps here.” and she rested her hand on his heart. “You must leave, I have lost all that I loved except for you and this tribe. You must find your own way now. The shaman’s have given you a second chance, Baphomet’s influence has been chained but not extinguished. One day, you will have to be stronger than Him… One day, you will have to face the demon inside you.” Tarrantus was stunned by the declaration, his own mother casting him out, but she was also the Elder now, she had to make decisions for the whole of the Thunderhoof tribe. “I understand mother.” Tarrantus began to slowly turn away to gather his belongings.

“Son.” his mother called, causing Tarrantus to slump further. “I hope to see you again, as a whole, as tranquil.” Tarrantus walked again out the door, vaguely noting his mothers sobbing snorts as he made his way to his home to gather his things and prepare for the road ahead.

Tarrantus didn’t say anything to anyone as he left. He went under cover of night so as not to disturb anyone and began to wander. He wasn’t quite sure where to start at and just found a road and traveled. He was glad for the restraint put on his link to Baphomet as it is what saved a group of highwaymen who thought a lone minotaur to be fine sport. The only things lost were some food and equipment as Tarrantus showed them his might.

The residual rage was still there though, and it also saved him from time to time. The bear that decided to use Tarrantus for food found itself the meal after a bout of the red-rage came to Tarrantus’ aid. It was lesser now though, he could channel it, control it. Tarrantus wandered, he ventured, he steered clear of most settlements after finding that most people thought minotaurs to be terrifying.

Eventually though, he was found. A young girl calling herself Mia


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